


Eight Hands To Hold Your Langst

by WinterFairy209



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: I have a lot of salt, Langst, M/M, Parody, Seriously this is a parody, rare; i know, salt in the voltron fandom?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2018-12-30 09:43:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12105978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterFairy209/pseuds/WinterFairy209
Summary: Lance is feeling the pressure of being a paladin of Voltron again, but Slav is thankfully there to comfort him. PARODY.





	Eight Hands To Hold Your Langst

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read the tags, then be aware this is a parody. I know the totally serious title and eloquent description might have fooled you, but be warned, probably not good for langst enthusiasts and slav/paladin supporters. Written totally for the salt that the voltron fandom is so good at inspiring.

 

Lance was on the observation deck, swaddled in a thick blue blanket as he stared into the inky vastness of space. Stars shined brightly, far more brightly than he ever could. Would he ever be a star, or would he simply fail to even be set aflame?

He hugged his arms closer to his chest as he remembered the devastating blow that Shiro had served his self-confidence today. “Keep your arm steady as you aim.” How could he keep his arm steady when his self-esteem was so shaky?

The tears continued to flow as he remembered the rest of what the team said to him.  Pidge’s,“Can you be quiet for a minute? I need concentration for this,” when she was deactivating a bomb. Was he _that_ annoying? Allura’s, “Lance, can you tell me how many doboshes has passed?” was horrible. Not even a “how are you?” Was he just a human clock for her? Hunk’s, “Hey, buddy, pass the cilantro? No offense, Coran, but this needs some seasoning,” was so obviously cruel that he didn’t even need to explain it. And then Keith’s, the cruelest of them all: “Can you move over, please?” Lance felt weak from even remembering those words and buried his heads between his knees, sobbing deliriously. He was the weak link, the seven wheel, the unimportant paladin. No one would ever care for him.

Then he heard the distinctive _pad pad_ of alien feet and turned around to see Slav standing there, the stars making him practically glow in the dim light.

“Slav?” Lance tried to make his voice strong, but he could still hear it break – ever so slightly – under all his sorrow. Slav’s ears twitched and Lance knew he heard it too.

Slav moved closer, but he moved slowly, to respect Lance’s boundaries. Lance was grateful towards Slav and gave him the okay to move into his personal space.

“Lance, is something wrong?”

“I-I don’t know Slav.” Lance swallowed nervously and couldn’t meet Slav’s beady eyes. “I just feel a little…useless.”

“Lance.” Lance’s heartbeat increased at the sound of Slav’s voice, which emitted a serious tone that he used to think only Byronic heroes could master. But apparently Slav had it down pat. “Look at me.”

Lance looked up and his heart stopped. Slav’s eyes were burning more intensely than Lance ever thought the nervous alien could muster.

Slav’s beak moved to his ear, whispering those sweet words that he so longed to hear. “ _You are valid_.”

Lance felt a dizzying high from those words, a blush spreading across his face as his body tensed and shook. He shakenly reached out to hold one of Slav’s hands and felt cooled by the reassuring heat.

“Thank you,” he whispered, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes again, but not tears of sadness, no, tears of happiness. “Thank you.”

“It’s what you deserve,” Slav said resolutely. “My calculations show that in every alternate reality, you are valid.”

Lance nearly swooned from hearing those words again but managed to keep his cool long enough to brush his lips against Slav’s beak and ask, “Do you want to come with me to my room?”

He saw a familiar shade of pink (for it decorated him as well) on Slav’s cheeks. “My calculations tell me that would be the correct choice for this reality.”

Then they stole into the night, not to be heard of until morning

**Author's Note:**

> If you hate this, don't worry, I hate it too.


End file.
